


The Death Log of John H. Watson

by Venstar



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 05:33:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 56
Words: 22,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1375717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venstar/pseuds/Venstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John H. Watson is a former practicing M.D, former Army soldier and has been hospitalized in a mental institute because he sees and talks to Death.  He is currently writing in a journal about his imaginary friend because the loony bin therapist thinks it will be good for him.  What John doesn't realize is that Death isn't really an imaginary friend and he's got a bigger story to tell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Entry

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Work in Progress so be patient as I write and upload. I am still currently working without a real beta but will hopefully have one soon. p.s. i have no idea what alternate universe this is. i just made it up....
> 
> **new edit** so yeah, i got a couple of major edits i'll need to do to the first 8-9 entries. will probably take this week to do them, so there won't be such a fast update going on as i edit edit edit!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i did a bunch of updates on like sections 1-11.

\----I have taken back control of my life. I am also posting my journal on the most anonymous public forum I can find. Death is with me. He would like me to tell you that he indeed has a name and that I may use it here, so that all the world knows. I can’t believe his name. He says it’s a girl’s name but I haven’t heard of any girl’s named Sherlock, but it’s Death, so who knows. I did ask if he was indeed a girl. He says he is old, older than dirt as I once suggested and that it’s an old name and if I think that’s silly, then I would laugh at his brother’s name. But, that’s another story and Death is impatient to be off on another adventure--

The Death Log

of

John H. Watson

First Entry

*edit* Deaths= 0 (at this point,I haven’t really killed anybody yet so I don’t feel as if I can put a number down. Maybe I should change that to present for a death later)

I had to start a journal about this. Doctor Lestrade gave me this notebook so I could write my thoughts down. He called me into his office today, we meet about once a month, sometimes more if he feels I’m “not progressing enough and wants to encourage me on my way to better mental health”. He said that if I write my thoughts down, they may make more sense to me. I don’t know how this will help since I’ve been living with Death for quite a number of years, off and on. But I like Doctor Lestrade, so I’m going to humor him. 

He’s okay as head shrinkers go, I’ve had worse and less understanding therapists in the past. He’s pretty much a lifer at St. Bartholomew’s Psychiatric Facility, compared to the rest of the staff. He started as an Intern I think and then made his way back here to lead the “professional team of nursing staff and mental health workers.” The staff adores him. I do think Lestrade lends the institution a bit of grace and decorum, but lately, he is a bit distracted from his work. I mean he tries, don’t get me wrong. I think he’s got some problems at home he’s not talking about. But you know, you can’t really divulge your personal home life to your loony patients. Sometimes I wish he would, I’ve known him for a bit, seems like he could do with someone to talk to. I am probably the least crazy one here in my opinion. Ha! I know he has me wrong but then I’m not the one sitting on the right end of the sofa, you know what I mean. 

He sits there, in his little 60’s retro lounge chair, with his little clipboard in a tired charcoal suit, legs crossed, a patient smile on his face surrounded by a halo of silver grey hair, listening to all the “crazy” stuff his patients all have to tell him. He listens, he talks, he diagnoses and he prescribes treatment. I kind of envy his hair a bit. I wonder if mine will turn that nice silver. Probably not. I should ask him what hair color it was before it turned that silver. Already, small streaks of greying blonde have begun to pop up in mine. Maybe I’m going to go grey in patches. I’ve earned the grey hair. I like to say how,my sister Harry caused the section on the back of my head because that’s where she loved to hit me when we were kids. I believe med school, a tour of Afghanistan and clinical hours definitely caused a few streaks. I feel like Death has caused some at the crown of my head as well, because every time he has appeared I have the nervous habit of running my fingers through my hair. This is the first time I have been prescribed something other than medicine for treatment. Usually there’s some nodding, some uh huhing, some scribbling and a prescription, take two and call me in the morning. If you feel like you are having a psychiatric emergency, please hang up and dial 999. I really hate that message. Do you think if I am on the verge of killing myself that after calling my Doctor, I’m going to listen to that message and calmly call 999. I can just imagine, Hello, this is 999 what’s your emergency. Uh yeah, I want to kill myself but my Doctor is unavailable to take my call so he gave me your direct line, to whom am I speaking to? Great, Hi Bob, I’m John, what’s up. Okay, I’m digressing I know. But sometimes you have to admit, the health system is crazier than the crazies are. I have started this late, it’s almost time for light’s out in the loony bin. I had better tuck this away before the orderlies arrive and I also have to see if I can get Death to leave. The two hench orderlies on my floor are, Anderson or Donovan. They are the most annoying orderlies I have ever had the experience of knowing. They have no compassion for any of the inmates. They don’t reward good behavior and are always poking their noses in our rooms, searching for contraband. Neck breathing dragon orderlies. They are probably going to find this at some point and sneak a peek at what I’m writing and report back to Lestrade. There’s not much privacy here, I have a bed, a dresser, a small desk and voila. My furniture and decor is provided by St. Bart’s. I remember when I first came here I would find the loonier patients wandering in and out of my room because, well….they all look the same. Fortunately, I don’t have a room mate. It’s an odd small room in the older part of the hospital. Probably an old broom closet or something that they converted. I haven’t added anything, although I did keep the macaroni picture frame I made the first year I was here, my mom gave me an old family photo to keep in there. I turned it wrong side out and drew a smiley face on it. Why do I want to look at something that makes me unhappy and is a constant reminder of why I’m here? I don’t.


	2. Second Entry

Death has a nice laugh. It’s deep and rumbly. Sometimes I feel it in my toes.  
P.S. Anderson blows. Today he caught me laughing at something Death did and mocked my laughter. Death was not happy, he likes my laugh, so he says. He doesn’t like it when Anderson or Donovan shut me down. I wish I could send him to haunt them. Here, have my imaginary friend, please and thank you.


	3. Third Entry

I don’t have much to say. I am not sure A or D have found you yet. I don’t really care. Don’t care, don’t care, don’t care. Go away. I'm going to start drawing stick figures or something to fill the pages. Ha Ha Ha. Dr. Lestrade didn’t say how long my entries had to be or if they had to be all text!


	4. Fourth Entry

He wants to play another game of chess but I just can’t. Have you ever played chess with Death?

Actually, after re-reading my massive earlier writings, I’ve realised I haven’t quite introduced the two of you yet. Journal, my dear diary, I’d like you to meet Death. Haha. No, I’m not going to flush you down the toilet or something, that’s his name. I swear! On my mom, I swear that’s what I know him as bum bum bummmmm, Death. Sinister I know! And now he’s complaining about how I am giving him a bad name and that I should write something more intelligent. He’s pretty bossy, Death is. He is also a figment of my imagination. Which is why I am currently residing at St. Barts and writing in you and seeing Lestrade and dealing with boorish orderlies. Imaginary friends are great, aren’t they. Yup. I wish he would leave me alone, I don’t want to play chess. He’s glowering at me. He wants to know why I am laughing and writing at the same time. Because it’s a bloody journal. I am in one of the most world renowned psychiatric facilities writing in a journal like a 14 year old school girl and it’s hysterical. Hilarious. Seeing imaginary friends? Come to St. Barts so you can write in a diary. It’s a total CURE ALL. Now he wants to know why I’m angry. I think it would be easier to go play chess with him. At least then I will get some peace and quiet and could possibly lay my head down on the chess board and bang it on the table a couple of times out of FRUSTRATION!! CAN YOU READ THIS NOW DEATH!! READ IT! Dear Diary, ttyl, and whatever girls do to sign out of journals.


	5. Fifth Entry

I probably shouldn’t have called this the death log. I’m thinking maybe I should change it to the dumb log that’s dumb for lots of reasons I can’t think of. I couldn’t think of anything else and I guess it fits. No one’s going to believe me, they’ll just chalk it up to me being mental and uncooperative. Death says I’m not mad. But I have done my duty and scribbled down a thought (So there, Anderson). Fucktard.

He’s found out I’m journaling, he won’t let up. “Are you doing what Dr. Lestrade told you to do?” “Where’s your journal” “I don’t see you writing” “Are you going to put that in” “You have to record everything for Dr. Lestrade.” It’s none of his business and does he think that constantly reminding me to write something down is going to help. No. Way to understand reverse psychology. Stupid. Dammit but I’m writing aren’t I. Stupid journal. Argh-


	6. Sixth Entry

Dear Diary, last night was so much fun, we braided each other’s hair, it was great. We ate popcorn and watched a movie in the large common room. The tables that take up the half of the linoleum floor were pushed to the side and the chairs were lined up in rows with an aisle in the middle. The cooks made the popcorn in the kitchen. Oh my god I love popcorn. It smells so buttery and toasty. I don’t care what kind of movie we’re watching I basically go for the popcorn. Until one of the other loony inmates didn’t want to sit in the chairs anymore and moved to sit in the sofa’s on the other half of the common room. These are off limits during movie time. Anderson and Donovan tried to force him out of the area, but they didn’t have much success. The guy had a breakdown and we were made to go back to our rooms without finishing the movie. Death was disappointed, he was just about to solve the crime. I tried to tell him it’s a movie and it’s not real, but he’s stubborn.


	7. Seventh Entry

Dr. Lestrade asked me if I had been writing in this Journal. I said yes. He asked if he could see it. Since nothing exciting ever happens to me, I said sure, why not. I gave it to him and he read it and then he looked at me. He said I should write more about Death and less about Anderson and Donovan. What can I say, I get enjoyment out of insulting them. So I had better quit procrastinating and get on with it. ( I would like to point out that a crazy person would probably not know he is procrastinating). This blows so much, because what’s the point! “Write down your thoughts.” He said, “record your conversations. See if it gives you any clarity” Like I need clarity. I’m not going to write any more right now because Anderson is a big loser. So there.


	8. Eighth Entry

I have to start somewhere and last night I couldn’t sleep because I kept thinking what I should put in here. Maybe I should put something in here. Maybe Lestrade is right...... Ha ha ha, No. I shall keep insulting Anderson and Donovan because that's what they're for, but I can’t ignore Death. He seems interested in this journal as well. He says if I don’t start writing in it, he won’t leave me alone and he will find some way to write for me. I can’t even begin to tell you how terrifying that sounds. I’m not sure I want to know all of Death’s thoughts.


	9. Ninth Entry

He won’t leave me alone, so I’m going to start this as traditionally as I know how......tomorrow, tomorrow. There will be a tomorrow. I can't tonight. He's just sitting there. Oh God, what do I say. What do I really say? He wants to know why I'm hesitating. He's asking me if I want to stay in here forever and if I do, that's fine with him. He'll always visit me. I tell him he's being very kind tonight. Death is never kind. Now he thinks I should stop being sarcastic and I really don't think I have programmed my imaginary friend to talk to me very politely and I wonder what that says about me. Now he looks all sad and miserable. But if I start this, where will it end. He tells me I'm fighting it. I wish he would leave, but he's a persistent bugger. I do want to write this, I do. Oh God yes, I do.


	10. Tenth Entry

Sorry, they called lights out before I really got started last night. Death was hysterical, he threw a tantrum. I have never seen him throw a tantrum and if he was that upset he should do something about it, like take himself off. I'm not sure what he did because it got really quiet...so, let's begin.

Dear Diary,

Death does not disturb me, that is a fact. How can that be disturbing? Death is everywhere. He stands beside me most days, he’s laughing at what I'm writing right now. But if I don't write it down, how will anyone know what really happened? When I am gone, who will tell the story of John H. Watson, former practicing M.D and soldier. I had served my country well, I had served my patients well and now I’m rotting in hell (sorry, but I am Anderson, you can take that and shove it up your piehole and stuff it full of Donovan). I had completely forgotten about Death and his visits. He had left me alone for so long, until I enlisted in the Army and became one of their medics.  I guess with so many men dying around me, it was only natural that I came to see him more and more often. I suppose I like to think of us as old friends. I think he thinks of us as something more and I may agree with him. We're tied somehow. I don't know how, I don't know why I'm safe with him. I don't always understand him, sometimes I feel like all I do is pester him with questions, but he is very patient with me, no matter how old fashioned and humorless he is. He’s a bit of a prick really. A big one. That’s right. You wanted me to start writing in this thing so I am and you don’t get a vote on what goes or doesn’t go in here. He is reading over my shoulder and wants me to erase what I just wrote. Said it wasn’t important. Do you see what I have to put up with?  Imaginary friends are the worst.

I first met him when I was very young, in Elementary school. He was a very unexpected visitor. He hasn't changed much in the years since we first met. Maybe for Death that's normal. He was very old or so he told me and keeps telling me. I asked him once when I was young if he was older than dirt. That stumped him and it silenced me. When I thought about it I figured I shouldn't make jokes about Death to Death. He is very serious after all, he looked very serious as he pondered his age. When he finally glanced at me and smiled, I must have looked worried. He reached a hand out and smoothed the wrinkles between my brows. “Have no fear John. I won't kill you for your sense of humor”

He left me when I was a young man. I was relieved when he left. I’m sorry, I was. 

I left my family as soon as I was old enough and without them knowing. I used whatever savings I had to buy a fake identity and back story. I entered med school through the military. Without this, they would never have let me in due to my psychiatric history. For the longest time, I was Death free. Until he came back in the middle of Afghanistan. I was caught talking to myself too many times in the army and then in the base clinic I had been hired in. One messed up accidental visit from my sister at one of the local bars, was all that cost me my career and life with the army. Her girlfriend was a soldier on base and the moment she recognized me, my life was over. I didn’t have time to stop her, she was so drunk, she couldn’t take a hint to keep her mouth shut. My cover was blown, my life ruined, my mental health was brought into question. Everyone in my former unit was questioned, I had been heard too many times laughing and talking to someone that wasn’t there. I was crazy, I was committed.


	11. Eleventh Entry

I had an interesting conversation with Death today while playing chess. Urgh, someone else needs to go mental and play with him. I keep offering to find him other players, better players, interested players but no one else will do, no matter how horrible I play. I think he thinks I’m playing horrible on purpose. I don’t have the heart to tell him no, I really do suck at chess and I keep trying to switch us to card games or something easier. Like Poker or solitaire. -


	12. Twelfth Entry

Sorry for the interruption, Anderson and Donovan came barging in last night. I didn’t want them to see what I was working on. It’s a good thing too, they brought a new counselor by so she could introduce herself. Said she would be sitting in on our group therapy sessions at first and then eventually take over for the boring old codger that snores through group. Nice young lady, soft spoken, large brown eyes and a lopsided braid of brown hair. Molly Hooper. I’m going to miss the boring old codger. Now it looks like we’re going to have to work during group.

So back to what I was writing last night. He let on that he doesn’t just hang around me all day long. He’s my imaginary friend. Isn’t that what they do? So what is it that’s so special that takes him away from me? Death apparently. Well, that would make sense wouldn’t it. I have assigned my imaginary friend Death to do the job of Death. Way to go Watson. On top of that one there. (Yes Anderson, he has a job to do) I asked him if he likes what he does. He blinked at me for a great deal in silence. Aren’t we supposed to like what we do? He laughed his nice laugh. “Would you like this job?” he asked. I didn’t think that was a real answer so I said so and then I told him that I didn’t know, I’m not the one doing it. “Well, it’s not all fun and games,” he replied.

I’ve seen people die. The old and sick, the young and healthy, when they should have had a lot more time left. I let him know my thoughts. He explained that he is not the keeper of time and that even he has a boss! A boss! Can you believe that, Death has a boss. Has. A. Boss! Wow. Oh I had a ton of questions then. What’s he like? Does he have a name? Mycroft! That can’t be a real name. HE’S HIS BROTHER!! DEATH HAS A BROTHER NAMED MYCROFT….how is that even possible!! Is he an alien? Because that sounds like an alien name. Did I make that up for him? How did I come up with a brother named Mycroft? I didn’t understand and he thought that was weird because I have a sister and didn’t I know how siblings were come by. I did NOT want to have that discussion with him. And then the big question hit me….did Death have a name other than Death? Yes. I didn’t like it. He got offended. Surely if you are but a figment of my imagination, I can do better than Sherlock! Sherlock and Mycroft. What is wrong with me? He wouldn’t hear of changing them. His name he says is old, he was born with it, he’ll die with it so leave it alone. Well, for now. But I learned how to distract him during chess. Ask him personal questions. But I am tired, so I am going to bed.


	13. Thirteenth Entry

Death made an appearance today during group. I refuse to call him by that ridiculous name. I can do better than that! Molly, the new counselor I mentioned earlier, kept the old codger awake, but barely. Her voice is so soft, a lot of us were straining to hear it, she must be just out of University. We had to follow some sort of clinical format. Guess the old codger hasn’t kept up on all the journals. We had to start with introductions. State our name and problem. Apparently this is how we’re going to start all our sessions from now on. I hate the introductions it makes me feel as though they’ve forgotten why we’re here. I did mine, John Watson, former practicing M.D., former soldier, currently a mental patient suffering from PTSD, who claims to have an imaginary friend named Death, that he just learned has a job, a name that isn’t always Death and a brother. Did I get all that right, I asked him. He just shook his head as if I were a heavy burden he had to bear. I got the usual response, “Hi John” and a couple of claps. Molly asked if there was anything else I wanted to say about my friend. So I told her he could be a bit of an ass. Death passed by her chair and I noticed her give a small jump, as if she could sense him or something. Now that, is crazy. No one has ever noticed him before.


	14. Fourteenth Entry

Death wouldn’t give up during our next chess game. He seemed really bothered that I might be bothered by his imaginary work. I told him “What is fair in life and death? A man dies at the hands of another man everyday, whether it’s a direct action or indirect action. He does not die by you. Remember, you’re just a manifestation of my problems” Death just sort of sat there for a bit, blinking at me. I felt like I had just kicked a puppy. I waited for him to come back from wherever his mind had gone and then waved my hand in front of his face. He jumped and moved a piece without thinking. I complained about the stupid game. Why oh why does he keep making me play it. I hate it. I don’t even know how to play, but I got one of his horses. He smiled at me and told me “Stop being thick, it’s a Knight, not a horse and I let you take it. The reason you don’t like playing chess is because you don’t like loss. You refuse to sacrifice any of your players. Your moves have a sense of desperation in them. It’s either retreat or attack. No sacrifices. You play a strange game.”

Everything has a consequence. Everything has a price. I don’t want to think about how I play chess.

I clued him in, “I know you let me take your horsey, I may not like the game but don’t think that I’m not aware of that. Do you really think I’m that stupid?” That surprised him again. His hand stilled over his pawn and he stared at me for a good minute before blinking. “I’ve never really thought about it before,” he said. He steepled his hands together and placed them under his chin and stared at me as if he could read my mind. He does have an uncanny ability to read people. Must be a part of his imaginary makeup. But no, he can’t read minds….I think. I don’t think I’ve given him that ability. But since he is my own manifestation, I suppose he would know what I’m thinking now that I think of it. I’ll save that for another question during chess. Oh god no more chess! Oh god no more Anderson. Oh god no more Donovan. Morons.


	15. Fifteenth Entry

Yesterday, while he pondered my question, I laughed at him, I’ve never seen him think that hard. His eyes got bigger and bigger and I made two checkmarks in the air. Me, two. Death, zero. He laughed at that. “Very well,” he said, “Are you stupid?” This time it was my turn to laugh. Maybe about a couple of things in general, but no. “How did you learn about the great game of chess, yet not know how to play to the strength of the pieces?”

So I told him. When my older sister Harriet, forgot to pick me up after school because she was high or drunk or both, there was an after-school chess program that I would watch until someone came to fetch me. If I was completely forgotten, I had to walk home when they finally closed the school up, good ol' Harry. I didn’t actually play, because that cost money. Money my family didn’t have. “I left you alone for too long, didn’t I?” asked Death. He’s not responsible for me, he’s imaginary for christ sake! What on earth could he have done? I told him this and then to change the subject I asked him how he--


	16. Sixteenth Entry

I asked death if there was something he had ever been bad at since he was giving me such grief about my poor chess game and I was still very annoyed with him about last night. “Astronomy, I don’t really need it. It’s pretty insignificant in my line of work. Although the stars are pretty at night.” he said. I asked if he meant all Astronomy or just some astronomy. He thought some more before shifting in his chair and then said “I think maybe all of Astronomy.” I didn’t understand what he meant about all Astronomy, I mean you learn about it day one in school. Now grant it, there are things about Astronomy I don’t know, so I asked for clarification. Because I know about some Astronomy, ergo my manifestation would know what I know. But he said “Most to all Astronomy, it’s not important so I forgot it ” He smiled and checked a mark in the air, “Sherlock, one.” I chucked a chess piece at him.

 

He caught it, rolled it in his fingers and set it back on the chessboard. “All astronomy,” he sang. “The stars are pretty. It’s nice to see that Copernicus’s work is still being appreciated. Sometimes I wonder if all of a person ceases to exist after I take them. Like burned out little stars, poof” Doesn’t he know? I asked and he told me that he wasn’t sure, he knew that not everyone’s work stayed after they were gone. Sometimes it just fades away, like a small death. I asked if it was anyone’s job to collect those ideas. Maybe another loony in here had a friend that did that. I looked around, quite a few of us were muttering to ourselves, so no help there. “No one, they just slip away,” he said, “they stop existing.” I argued that they didn’t really ever die, that they lived in us, in our books and history. He then proceeded to explain the ruin of the library of Alexandria and that we were very inept at recording and keeping our written works safe, of course there was always word of mouth but you know how that can go. At this point, my brain was not functioning right with what he had just told me. Aside from the brother I now knew about, he knew Copernicus and was familiar with the library of Alexandria. If my mind wasn’t already blown before I entered the loony bin, it certainly is now and I can’t handle any more, I don’t want to think about it right now. I want to think how lame Anderson is and how much more pleasant Donovan would be if she would stop being annoying.


	17. Seventeenth Entry

Sorry, Molly stopped by again without Anderson and Donovan. I’m not sure if Lestrade told her about my journal writing. She asked about group the other day and that I mentioned a few more details about Death and she wanted to know about them. She sat down on the edge of my cot, as if that would make talking to her easier. I was not sure about sharing his name, would it turn out like rumplestiltskin or what? You know, give an item a name and it has power or some other fairy tale nonsense like that. Death appeared and again, Molly shifted over, as if his presence bothered her. He said he wasn’t sure what would happen if someone shared his name, but he thought we should experiment. And since he is imaginary, I agreed. I’m not sure if any of that makes sense to you. “Sherlock,” I said, and as I said that I learned how big of a drama queen Death could be. That bugger. He seized up and collapsed on the floor. I am afraid I may have scared Molly when I lunged for him, she called for the orderlies and I was found to be beating my fists against the ground. I wasn’t hitting the ground, I was trying to hit Death, because he had literally scared me to death.

I didn’t know….I didn’t know what I would have done had he really gone, it just hit me. I didn’t want to lose him. Although after that fiasco I wonder how I could not want to lose him, the big jerk. When I had calmed down, Molly had enough sense to ask what happened. So I told her. Death is a jerk. A big fat jerk.


	18. Eighteenth Entry

Dear Diary, It’s been so long since we’ve talked. I hate you.


	19. Nineteenth Entry

Dear Diary,

~~I am sorry about yesterday’s entry.~~ No. No I'm not. I'm not really, let’s be honest with each other.   I'm not sorry and I really do hate you.  You are making me miserable.  Dr. Lestrade wanted to see me last week. He wanted to talk about the incident where I got violent in my room. So, I saw him. Anderson and Donovan came to get me. Donovan took you from my desk without asking. I tried to get you back. I asked her to leave you alone. She called me a freak and threw it to Anderson and he rifled through it. I asked him to leave you alone and that you were my own private, personal property to which he answered I had none of that here. They wouldn’t give you back to me, so I tried to take you back from them. It was rough.  I will have to say I put up a good fight and managed to give Anderson a black eye. That felt awesome and well, I didn’t have the nerve to hit a woman, so Donovan managed to call in some other brutes to help her secure me.  But you were dropped and I hoped forgotten.  But you weren't, someone had placed you under my pillow and I'm not sure who did that.

I’ve just been allowed back from “solitary observation” where I was deemed too “upsetting” for the general populace. My medication was adjusted, no matter how much I protested that I was provoked by Anderson and Donovan’s stupidity and that Death is a big fat jerk! Molly visited me once while I was there. I didn’t want to see her. I didn’t want to see any of them. I don’t agree with the medication, I don’t like the medication. It makes me feel as if I’m not all there, like I’m just watching the world pass me quietly by and I want to scream hello I’m still here. Death was not happy, he kept fading in and out. I’m afraid they may have found a dosage close enough to make him go away. He kept me company until I begged him to leave. With his constant presence, they would not have let me out anytime soon and they would have kept upping my medication and….and....I wasn’t ready for that yet. I didn’t want him to leave, but I had to send him from me. I wish I could have called him back. But I didn’t.


	20. 20th Entry

I don’t care who’s reading this. You can all go fuck yourselves. Especially you two idiots, Anderson and Donovan.


	21. 21st Entry

Molly keeps trying to engage me in group therapy. It’s not going to work. Hi I’m John Watson. Former practicing M.D, former British Soldier, I have an imaginary friend and I don’t fucking care.

Hi I’m John Watson.

Hi I’m John Watson

Hi I’m John Watson

Hi I’m John Watson

Hi I’m John Watson

Hi I’m John Watson


	22. 22nd entry

I think Death is taking my medication. They give it to me in a little cup and when I turn to swallow it, it’s gone. I don’t know how he’s doing it, but he’s doing it. Now who’s crazy.


	23. 23rd entry

It's been two weeks since I've last seen Death. I don't know where he is or what he's doing. Maybe he's not taking my medication, what if I'm so medicated I don't know I've actually taken it? That would make more sense except I'm talking sense now. Actually, I'm talkiing to myself aren't I? I think this journal writing may not be very healthy for me if I start talking to it instead. I think they would call that transference or something. Like a baseball player doing bad, I've exchanged my bat for another one hoping it's the bat and not me that's messed up.

We’ve had a couple of new arrivals. Sebastian and Jim. I don’t understand why Jim doesn’t have to participate in group and is allowed to wander around the room. It’s annoying. Molly just avoids him like the plague. Sebastian is suffering from a PTSD break as well. Said it gave him a heart attack that increased his paranoia and that he attacked his bedmate. I’m glad my PTSD never got that far. All it gave me was trouble. Trouble named Death, aka Sherlock, aka my imaginary mate. But I guess I can’t argue. Better than nearly strangling your mate in real life.


	24. 24th Entry

They’re letting me sit back out in the main common room. To be social. A bunch of loony old losers lounging around drooling on themselves. And I’m the biggest one of them all. I wonder when I’ll start to drool. I sat down at the chess table, nobody was there. Finally, Death appeared. He seemed happy to see me if that could be possible. He asked me if I was happy to see him. I tried to ignore him, he’d been gone so long, I wasn’t sure if I still wanted to talk to him. I have no idea what the medication is doing to me. I don’t. Personally, I don’t think the quacks at this shack know either. He asked me if I wanted to call him by his real name. “You’re not real, you’ve never been real. I’m not going to start calling you by your “real” name,” I told him. As imaginary friends go, he didn’t listen to me. I asked him if he had imaginary work to do. He said “Always, but I need a break.” Unbelieveable. My imaginary friend needs a break. Wonderful. Brilliant. Stupid. Imaginary friend. I move a chess piece, if only to distract him and shut his gob. I lost the game. He seemed sad. He said I could call him Sherlock if I want. He left. Good. Great. Excellent. Sebastian and Jim came by afterwards to see if I wanted to play a game of chess. I told them no, I wasn’t any good but they were welcome to the board. I stood up to leave and Jim smiled and said they’d be seeing me. In this place, quite likely. There is no escape from the loony bin. There’s no family out there willing to check me out. Something about Jim though, I can’t put my finger on it.


	25. 25th Entry

My imaginary friend is Sherlock. I could still call him Death, but I haven't made up my mind all the way.. I don't know how they expect him to leave me alone. Has anyone ever stopped an imaginary friend from visiting?


	26. 26th Entry

Dear Diary, so much has happened in the last few days. We had group, the new guys were missing. Sebastian was put in “solitary observation,” he got in a fight with someone. Anderson was sporting some pretty nasty bruises, Donovan had some nasty ones as well. I felt bad about that because even when I was fighting them over you….I knew enough not to hit a girl. That worries me about Sebastian. That worries me about a lot of the other patients here, but none of them have ever left marks on the orderlies that I could see. So far, the only guilty ones of orderly abuse are me and Sebastian….I feel sick now. I asked about Jim, but nobody could remember Jim, not even Molly and she's in charge of our group. Since I already see Sherlock, I didn’t press the subject.

To end this on a high note, I received a care package. My old land lady, Mrs. Hudson. Nice lady. A bit senile I guess. Crazier than I think I am but nobody sees me as a fit judge. I hope she never reads this, she is rather nice. Anderson and Donovan brought the box in, already opened, checking for contraband they said. They dropped it on my floor. Sherlock appeared, like a magical bunny rabbit. What can I say, he likes boxes. They contain mysteries for him. He asked me to close the box and then shake it so that he could guess what was in it. Seriously, how old is he?  Dirt has better sense!  I refused him, he said please. He never says please.

I shook the box. God, I am so lame.


	27. 27th Entry

I sat out in the common room today, waiting for Sherlock. Molly found me first, she complimented me on my new shirt and robe. Sherlock had guessed clothing, but he couldn’t guess the color. It was a black and white striped longsleeve shirt and a dark blue robe. I didn’t think the colors worked so well together, they made me feel like I really was in prison. But it’s the loony bin and it was a nice compliment so I thanked Molly. She adjusted the collar of my robe. Sherlock appeared and she jumped. She excused herself as quickly as possible. I just chalked it up to “mustn’t touch the patients unless absolutely necessary.” Nice girl, but as I thought, just out of University and not much experience to go on. I am afraid she would break in here.

Sebastian wandered by and started talking to me again. I think he thinks we’re some sort of kindred PTSD survivors. He ignored Sherlock as everyone does and chattered on and on. Sherlock began to fidget as Sebastian took up a great deal of my time. There was no chess going on, even I began to want to escape. Sebastian kept droning on and on about army regulations, policies and where they had gone wrong and what did I think?

I didn't think anything, I just sort of nodded and hemmed and hawed a bit until Sherlock faded out again. When that happened, Sebastian sat back, got quiet and smiled. Jim soon joined us and asked Sebastian how things were going. Curiously, Sebastian answered "as planned." I left soon after that, not even with any sort of politeness, I just took off. They give me the creeps.


	28. 28th entry

I don’t know how long I can tolerate Sebastians visits. They monopolize a great deal of my time, cutting Sherlock out.

I think my imaginary friend is bored. Sherlock is bored. How does that even happen? I tried to play a game of chess with him before Sebastian showed up, because it’s all I could think of but he just kept staring at me. Why is he bored? He kept staring at me and I just kept shaking my head, I didn’t know what else to do. Nope, Nope, Nope. I told him I didn’t like the look in his eyes. HE CROSSED HIS EYES! AND THEN HE TOLD ME HIS LOOK IS JUST FINE!! No it is not, it is not fine! He argued that his look was fine, but he had something on his mind that he wanted to talk to me about. Something inside me said run, don't ask, don't ask, don't ask. Okay, nope. I tried to excuse myself, I laid my King and Queen down for good measure. I was more or less trying to find the off switch. He held his hand out over the board. “In all the years I have known you, you have never been afraid of me and today, right now, you are.” Poor Sherlock. I felt sorry for him but I shook myself out of it because how can you feel sorry for an imaginary friend. My feelings must be reflecting back to me. At least that’s what Dr. Lestrade has said. Sherlock is a figment of my imagination that I built to cope with things I couldn’t handle. I can’t handle. I also don’t know how my lack of medication has been affecting me. I wish he wouldn’t take it. They’ll find out, but they won’t find you. I’ve found an excellent place to hide you. And now we should worry because I’m talking to my bloody journal. If it’s not an imaginary friend, it’s an inanimate object.


	29. Chapter 29

I touched Sherlock today.

I touched Sherlock today.

I touched Sherlock today.

It was an accident, I didn’t mean to.


	30. 30th entry

Is that even possible? Should that have been possible? To touch him? I can’t breathe. It must have something to do with the medication. Am I taking the medication? I am taking the medication. Maybe it’s too high a dose. I need to tell Lestrade. They’ve messed my dosage up. I went to group today. Hi, my name is John H. Watson and I touched my imaginary friend and he felt real. Molly wanted to know more and I didn’t have anymore to tell her. Sebastian and Jim seemed very interested. I can't decide who is creepier between these two and I think they knew each other before entering. I don't want to know. I just want them to leave me alone.  

I can imagine anything I want can't I.  Oh my god, what if you're not really here? 

Nope.

You are here.  I just threw you out into the hallway and I accidentally hit one of the inmates and set them off.  I got a lecture from Anderson and Donovan and they shook you in my face, tossed you at me and told me lights out, wasn't I just unbelievable.  Next thing you know I'll be starting riots.  


	31. 31st Entry

I haven’t told Lestrade that my medication is off. I don’t know what to do. I know what to do. I have to do it again.


	32. 32nd Entry

Sherlock says that he is not a rat and that I shouldn’t have used the chessboard to trap him like one. If I wanted to touch him, I could have just asked. I could...have...just...asked!! The cheek! My friend is filled with humor. I watched him carefully as we played, he mentioned it, mostly because I was slouched down in my chair, trying to see through him. He says I looked crazy when I did that and I should probably never do that again. I think I’m going to give him one of the hideous jumpers my sister keeps sending me as a Christmas gift if he doesn’t shut his big gob and let me tell the story how I want to tell it. Ha ha ha. That shut him up quick.

Earlier today, I lured him to me with a simple game of chess. I sat with my legs crossed and waited for him to make his move. I’m afraid I did look a bit crazy as he suggested. Sherlock went to remove my pawn from the board and I flashed my hand out and stopped him with my own. I just touched him with one finger and then my whole hand. He froze, as I did I’m sure. We both stared at each other. He remarked upon it, “You are touching me. No one has done that before.” I realized in all the time I’ve seen him, I have never attempted to touch him. I dropped his hand, I wasn’t sure if that was against the rules of imaginary frienddom. As in the “Don’t touch your imaginary friends” rule. I think there’s a “Don’t talk to your imaginary friends” rule and “If they talk back to you, run” rule. I also think that you probably shouldn’t go about mauling your real friends either...and do you know what he had the nerve to tell me? He looked at his hand and said no one has held his hand that he wasn’t leading away before. They didn’t choose to hold his hand. He always initiated the contact. He looked so sad that I think I made a noise or something like a giggle, because he looked at me very sternly and then his voice got deadly deep and he said “DO NOT MOCK DEATH!!” I literally fell out of my seat laughing. I probably shouldn’t have laughed, but when I looked up, I thought he might kill me if he indeed were Death, but he has never posed a threat to me. I caught him leaning on his elbow smiling down at me. “This is why I like you.” he told me. I laughed again and then through my tears I told him I thought that he liked me for my superior chess skills.

Sherlock would like to point out that I am being ridiculous and that my skills are non-existent so I should get on with writing something more pertinent.  Something nudged my foot while I was on the floor. I looked up and it was Anderson prodding me with his ugly white nurse’s shoes. Next to him was Dr. Lestrade and Donovan.

I could have wiped the sneers off A and D’s faces had I wanted to end up back in “solitary observation” but I held off. I just waited for them to speak. Dr. Lestrade looked tired, he had a bit of grey stubble coming in that he hadn’t taken care of and his hair was sticking up all over. I think he may have slept in his office again. Fight with the wife you know. Wonder how bad it’s….all right, Sherlock says to get on with it. Lestrade’s personal life isn’t important. Anderson kicked my foot again and told me to get up. I asked Sherlock if it was his time yet. Dr. Lestrade crouched down next to me, I could see the wrinkles in his shirt. Sherlock said no, it wasn’t their time. Pity, I said out loud staring at Anderson. Lestrade asked me what’s a pity and whose time it is. I rolled my eyes and sat up, knowing it was useless. I waved my hand towards Sherlock and told Lestrade what I had asked and that he shouldn’t be worried, he’s good for now. Lestrade wrote something on his ever present clipboard. Anderson and Donovan rolled their eyes at each other.

Lestrade asked me “what else does Death….er Sherlock, say today?” Same guy I said, two names. Look, I don’t make this stuff up ok that’s what he tells me. Death = Sherlock. Sherlock=Death. You do the math. Anyways, not all conversations with Death/Sherlock are to be shared amongst strangers. You wouldn’t do that to your friends. Lestrade looked to the chair opposite mine and waved hello. I told him Sherlock had moved and was standing by the windows and that he won the game, I don’t really know how to play, but we’re done now. I stood up and Sherlock came over and wrapped his hand around my arm. I froze. His touch still felt so real. Was I imagining it or was I not imagining it. I didn’t have a chance to parse it out, he whispered in my ear, “No, we’re not done.” I disagreed and then we got into an argument where I called him stubborn and Lestrade looked baffled and slightly concerned. He asked what was happening and I told him Sherlock thinks we have some unfinished business. Sherlock pulled my arm and I pulled back, we kind of got in a tug of war….yes...yes you are a big nuisance so shush, I’m telling the story! And you pretty much guaranteed that they are upping my medication. My now non-existent imaginary medication that you keep taking. What the hell are you doing with it anyways? That innocent look doesn’t work on me. I hope you’re not feeding it to this journal. Of course Sherlock, JOURNAL’S don’t like medication! How can you not….oh now I’m being absurd again! You’re lucky I managed to get us out of there, Mr. Smart Ass. “Tell them I say bye!” “Tell them don’t die!”

Seriously, seriously. Do you see what I have to put up with? Well, it shut them up, so maybe he was a bit right. Now you develop a sense of humor!

It’s lights out, I have to stop for now, I wish I didn’t have to.

p.s. little does he know, he’s still getting a horrid Christmas jumper.


	33. 33rd Entry

Ha ha, I opened the curtains and I can see a bit. I’m going to continue. Sherlock has gone for the night, I think. I’m going to continue this without him.

After our run in with Lestrade and his crew, we walked out into the gardens, Sherlock had my hand tucked in the crook of his arm, tight against him, as if we were out for a leisurely stroll in an English garden....OR my imagination is running away with me and it was I that held tightly to his arm and marched him out the door and onto the lawn as if he were a naughty child.

He turned to me and said my name. I looked up at him and he looked scared. That wasn’t a good sign. He wanted me to see something, I nodded. He hesitated and then something changed about his appearance, at first I didn’t see it. There was a flicker, a shift or something. A ripple of fabric. He let go of me and took a step away, my arm was suddenly cold and then I saw..I saw my unhappy childhood draped around his neck and looped about his wrists. He held his arms up and memories flooded in, hot, and fast. Memories I had tried to suppress. He was wearing all the odd bits of necklaces and bracelets I had given to him when I was a child. When I say “give”, I mean...lost. After all these years I was convinced that I had lost them, or been irresponsible with them and they just went missing, that I really hadn’t given them to Death. I felt anger, anger at him, at my mom, at my sister and at the people who were supposed to be helping me and yet who had made everything worse. Molly Hooper came across us then as I was standing there silently. She said my name over and over until I finally heard her. I turned and she gave a little gasp. I reached a hand up and felt tears, I guess I was crying. They both reached for me at the same time. Molly pulled her hand away as Sherlock grabbed me first. But after seeing what he had shown me, I told him to leave. I shook him off and demanded he leave. I yelled for him to leave. Leave me. Please leave me. Go away. I don’t know where you go, but just go. But the stubborn git just stayed there. I screamed some more. My voice feels a bit raw, even now. I won’t lie, I used very strong language that I shouldn’t have said in front of poor Molly. I even ended up on the floor somehow. Molly was completely beside herself, but she didn’t call for the orderlies. She stayed with me as I raged at Death. She patted my shoulder and said “There, there.”

I must have looked like a lunatic lying there crying over that great looby. Ha ha ha. Looking crazy in a loony bin, good one Watson. Way to go. Suddenly, I wanted someone to know my misery. I wanted her to know Death, I wanted her to know Sherlock. So I wiped my sniveling pitiful face and I asked her if she wanted to hear me tell the tale of how I met Death. She said yes and then she sat there in her lopsided braid, cherry printed cardigan and listened to a mad man tell his story.


	34. 34th entry

I laid on the grass and I stayed quiet, I could feel the grass against the back of my neck and the sun on my face. I could see the wind moving the leaves back and forth. I slid my hand over towards Molly, she reached her own out and grasped it, she was real. The grass, sky and wind were real. Sherlock, I wasn’t sure of. I told Molly and she squeezed my hand and waited. I looked away and whispered I remember the first time I saw death. It was at the funeral of my best friends dad when I was in kindergarten. I heard her mumble something like “so young”, but I continued as if I hadn’t heard her, I needed to keep going. He was there, at the church for the service, the only one in the room as we entered. He was sitting in the front pew. I noticed him because he didn’t have the same red hair like my best friend’s family. It was a black curling mess. I didn’t think he was dressed appropriately for a funeral. I smiled at the memory, at the time I thought he was wearing a large black blanket wrapped around him. He looked like he was in a weird caveman movie, there was a bit of fur sticking up out of the top of the neck, his arms were bare...scandalous, I know. Later, I would learn it was a type of medieval tunic or something, but I remember thinking my mother would be shocked. You were supposed to wear your best church clothes to a church or it was “disrespectful of the Lord”. I frowned at him for being “disrespectful” until he turned and saw me. He looked down at his outfit and shrugged. I figured that was maybe all he could afford or was mental. Little did I know, appearances aren’t important to him. As long as he wasn’t naked, he was fine. 

I thought he must be family. Long, lost, eccentric family that was rarely seen. Nobody talked to him. I asked my best friend who that man was, she said she didn’t know, that she didn’t see who I was talking about. So I pointed at him, he made a funny face and I smiled. I looked back to my best friend and she shook her head no. I thought that meant she didn’t know who it was. My friend went back up to sit with her family and I sat with my mom and sister Harry. I whispered the same question to my mom and pointed to the man. The service started and my mom slapped my hand down and shushed me. He made funny faces throughout the rest of the service, causing me to laugh throughout it. I think I lost my best friend that day, but I gained a new one. Molly whispered something about me being too young again, but I continued on. I think he was just testing to see if I could really see him. My mom and sister got mad at me and I didn’t know why. 

I do now. It’s wrong and inappropriate to laugh at death. I kept telling my mom he started it, that just earned me a slap in the empty hallway after she hauled me out of the service. I didn’t like him at that moment, he got me in trouble. Which if you haven’t noticed still happens. Anyway, I didn’t want to talk to him when he approached me at my best friend’s house where they were having the reception. My mom had gone off to talk to my best friend’s mom and my sister was trying to pretend we didn’t exist, she was already trying to sneak the liquor using “getting it for my mom” as an excuse. So, I sat in a chair trying to be good and eating what my mom had thrust at me. I ignored him for as long as I could, but he knelt down next to my chair and told me he was sorry and that he liked my necklace. I looked down at the rosary beads peeking through the collar of my shirt. I pulled the rosary out of my shirt and over my head, I let him look at them, he turned them in his hands. I kicked the legs of my chair and told him I liked his fur coat. He smiled and said thank you and handed me the rosary beads back. I leaned forward and told him that he shouldn’t have worn a sleeveless top to the church, it offended the Lord. He laughed, it was a lovely sound. I think that was a surprise to him. He told me the Lord didn’t care what he wore. I didn’t know what to say to that bit. I still think he could have put in a better effort, like an undershirt or something maybe, but then I thought what if that’s the best he had? I looked at the rosary he had handed back and I put my plate down on my lap and put the beads over his head. There, now he looked nicer, so I told him. He fingered the necklace in silence, I thought the look of surprise would never leave his face. 

I asked him who he was, was he my best friend’s long lost family or cousin or what? He said he was neither. He said that he was Death. I told him that was a funny name. At this point, talking to Molly, my voice broke and I started to cry again. And now he says it’s Sherlock! I looked at Molly and I said “I don’t know who he is or if he truly is real!” She squeezed my hand, which I suppose is really all she could have done. She couldn’t have told me if my imaginary friend was real any more than I could and I was trying to tell her myself!!

He introduced himself as Death and I accepted that. I laughed and told him that was a funny name. How many times have I laughed at Death? My mother came over at this time and asked me who I was talking to. “Death” I said. She was not happy, she said no one was there and that I wasn’t funny, especially at a time like this. 

I didn’t name him, I said. That’s what he said his name was! My mom looked at death, but she didn’t see anything humorous about him. In fact, she couldn’t see him at all! I think I would have been scared if Death wasn’t so very nice. Molly began to twine her fingers with mine, she scooted a bit closer and asked me how nice Death was. Well, he stood up, he towered over my mother but she just ignored him, he thanked me for the necklace and that it was nice to meet me. I said it was nice to meet him to and hopefully it would be under much nicer circumstances. Basically, we had a conversation between the two of us, but my Mother only heard me. She took me to a Doctor later that week.


	35. 35th Entry

Again, I couldn’t finish this last night, Jim was staring at me outside my room as I was writing this. Sebastian joined him after a few minutes and they both stared into my room. I’m not sure if he and Sebastian knew each other before they entered here but you usually can’t find one without the other. They walked towards my room and I was helpless due to the open door policy the stupid loony bin has. Sebastian invited himself with Jim into my room, I had to hide you quick, there’s not a lot of hiding holes in this stupid place. I have a lot of processing to do and I can’t do it while they’re bothering me. I made an excuse to leave my room as soon as possible. I don’t think Anderson and Donovan would like me becoming too chummy with them. Not after what happened. Oh my god, I’m beginning to care about Anderson and Donovan. Save me now.


	36. Chapter 36

After he took my best friends dad, he came for my favorite Uncle. I wasn’t as sad as everyone else about this. Death had explained that it was coming and there wasn’t anything he could do about it. So I watched my uncle drink and spend money and drink and lose his job. He moved in with my grandma and on a visit to them, I asked Death if this was it. He said no, not yet. This is life, death will come soon. I laughed at that because he was already here! I said this out loud and my uncle asked who I was speaking with. I told him, Death. My uncle looked concerned. I didn’t know why he would look at me with concern. He was the one that was living a bad life and would die soon. “You’re talking to death?” he asked me again. Yes, but not anymore, he’s gone off. “Off.”My uncle repeated as if the word was incredible to him. I said “Yes, off. He said he would come back for you later, but not now. You’re not ready. Sometimes Uncle when he talks it sounds as if we’re apples just waiting to drop and for him to catch us.” My uncle looked at me as if I were crazy and said “I’m not going to die! I’m right here!” 

“No,” I said, “Death said you’re living now but that you would be dead soon and he would come for you.” My uncle became angry at this and I didn’t like that. He yelled for my mom and told her what crazy things I was telling him. I ran to the bathroom to hide. I shouldn’t have said anything. I kept forgetting that the living doesn’t like death. My mother managed to convince me to leave the bathroom. I told her that I was sorry, I was sorry that her brother was going to die and that it wasn’t my fault. My grandmother crossed herself at this. “It’s okay,” Mom told them, “He’s going through an invisible friend phase. The doctor’s not sure how long it will last.” 

After a few more disastrous visits that upset my uncle, grandma and mom, I wasn’t brought back to visit. It took a year after that for Death to take my undle away. He believed me then. Everyone around us at the funeral service at the church was crying and sad. I was not. I was playing a quiet game of tic-tac-toe with Death. He had found a new outfit to wear since I had taken exception to his furry, sleevless garb. He was dressed in a long dark coat and suit underneath. He caught me staring at him and I dug around in my suit pocket for the halloween necklace I had made in school. I held it out to him, he looked at it and smiled at the sight of the skulls and thanked me for the gift. He apologized for taking my favorite Uncle. He was my only Uncle. I’m not sure if that made him my favorite. He asked if I wanted him to stay and I told him not unless he had to go take other people. He paused and cocked his head like a dog does when it’s listening to strange sounds. “Not right now,” he said “ It’s pretty quiet.” He began to tell me a story. I can’t quite remember what it was, but it was funny and it made me laugh and laugh hard. I was yanked out of my seat by my mom and dragged from the church.

I didn’t understand what was happening until I heard my mom crying about how death wasn’t funny and how I should be more respectful and she didn’t understand why I was acting the way I was. I told her death wasn’t always funny! Most of the time he was very serious, but he had moments of levity or that’s what he told me. I ‘m not sure I knew what levity was at the time. I asked her what did Death mean by that. I was brought directly home after that. I think that was the one time my sister was happy to know me.

Death was my only friend at this point. I grew quieter as I got older and discovered people didn’t welcome death like I did. I thought I was doing my best to hide him but as a child, you don’t always understand how noticeable you are. My mom and sister noticed. My sister caught me sneaking a turn at her easy bake to make him a cake for his surprise birthday party I was giving him. She was furious that I would touch her toys and pretty much beat the crap out of me and threw Death’s cake in the trash. I cried because I had nothing to give death on his birthday. Instead, I gave him the silver macaroni that I had made that was meant for my sister as a birthday present. 

Christmas and Easter were no no different. I tried to make a stocking for him, but my mom wouldn’t let me hang it with the rest of the family stockings, but that was ok, I hung it next to mine in my room. I accepted Death. 

Molly was crying in earnest at this point. Poor kid. She’s really nice. If I wasn’t who I knew I was, she could have easily been taken in. She probably thought she was being taken in. I patted her hand to try and reassure her that I was ok. She cried harder. 

His bracelets I said. Did you see his bracelets? She shook her head. I described what was on his arm. He had on a red, green and silver bell bracelet and several slap bracelets that had been in the goody bags for the girls at my 10th birthday. They were cheap, which is why my mom got them. Nobody came to that party. My mom was pissed at the expense she had gone through for a couple of lousy cheap bracelets and that if I didn’t have any real friends, I should have told her and she could have spared the wasted time and money and put it towards something useful. Apparently when Death is your friend, you lose any that you ever had. Maybe, I thought, maybe I never had any friends to begin with. He at least appreciated the pink and purple glitter slap bracelets. Some of the glitter had fallen off, leaving bare patches. Death didn’t mind the little things. In fact, he seemed to enjoy them. He was like a child on Christmas morning when he noticed something small and insignificant…...like me.

I stood up, Molly was still weeping on the grass. Such a tiny thing. I patted her on the top of her head. She snuffled, wiped her nose on her sleeve and looked up at me. I thought she might look frightened or something since I was now towering above her, but I held out my hand to her and she took it and I pulled her up and into a hug. I began to talk to her again. You are real, I told her. They said it was from trauma, probably at the death of my best friend’s father. I began to rattle off the causes: 

Trauma  
Death  
Stress  
Imaginary friend  
Manifestation  
Sometimes this happens  
Post Traumatic Stress  
Coping Mechanism  
PTSD  
Therapy  
Doesn’t exist  
Hallucinations  
Crazy  
Unreal  
Crazy kid  
Don’t talk to him  
Weirdo  
It’ll be ok  
We’ll figure this out  
Don’t worry  
Don’t cry  
Stop  
Stop talking about Death  
Death isn’t real  
It’s all in your head

Molly squeezed me hard as I whispered how I believed them. I let them put me here, thinking I was the crazy one and death was not real. What if I’m not crazy. What if he is real...what if his name really is Sherlock. And like a freaking daisy, he pops out of no where. “I’m real,” I heard his voice. Sherlock. I looked up over Molly’s shoulder. Are you? I asked him, reaching my hand out. How do I know I’m not talking to thin air. He cocked his head again in that way he had and smiled at me, so solemn. “I am real. If anything in life is real, it’s death. If anything is certain in life, it is death.” I stared at him, Molly was trying to turn to see who I was talking to. She moved enough to look around and then when she turned back to look up at me, I knew. I knew she didn’t see him, but she held her ground. I turned back to Sherlock and asked him if he really was Death. And then that stupid bugger had a confession to make.  
“I have a confession,” he said. Oh god, now a confession. I hugged Molly tighter, I think I heard to start to giggle. “I’m not really death.” He said. He said! What does that even mean! I hugged Molly tighter. “John,”he said, “you’re going to strangle to poor girl.” And then Molly had the nerve to say in a muffled voice that she “was all right.” He told me he was sorta kinda not really Death. I felt him growing taller than me, but it wasn’t so. I was falling to the ground and I took Molly with me. She squealed and Sherlock reached out to steady us, “Oh hey, take it easy. It’s ok, it’s ok. It’s going to be ok!” I’m afraid I lost it there for a bit. Steadied by Sherlock, I let Molly go and really let him have it. “Don’t tell me it’s going to be okay. Don’t ever tell me it’s going to be okay, because it’s not. Because I’m not okay. Oh god. Oh my god. I am crazy.”  
He told me not to be stupid, I wasn’t crazy and that he was just not death Death. Not big Death. Just a little death, just a little death. I proceeded to inform him that I wasn’t crazy, he was. What did he mean he was a little death! He sat down. The cheek. He said “I”m not death, as in all capital letters DEATH. I don't decide who dies or lives or when it’s their time I just collect them, their souls, I guide them, lead them to wherever they’ve been assigned. That’s left up to my big boss. My brother, Mycroft. I’m just his tool. A reaper essentially. Here, look.” At that he pulled out the wallet I had made him in boy scouts in fifth grade. Fake brown leather with red lacing. He pulled out a card, on it was his picture, he was staring arrogantly out of the photo. His blue eyes piercing, his black hair curling madly about his head. I told him he needed a brush. I turned it back and forth, his name and job title on the front “Holmes, Sherlock. Reaper Level 1. “See,” he said. I saw, I gave it back to him and it still didn’t prove anything. I could easily get on of those printed up. My head hurt by this time. Yes, yes I could make a card just like that so come on, pull the other one!

None of this explained him. None of it. I pressed him for an answer. This is the shit he gave me. “No one can see me but you and dead people.” That makes absolutely no sense, that still sounds like I’m crazy. He held his hand up and siad “People see me when they die and people see me if I wish them to see me.” And he wishes to see me? “And you wish to see me,” he said blinking at me with those big blue eyes. I just stared at him for a bit. Molly forgotten. “You were such a nice human, it was difficult to stop being seen. Actually, now that I think of it, you’re the only people who has really ever seen me without me making it happen. Wait, make that the only living person. Everyone else was dead.” Okay well that makes sense, not. “I have always wondered,” he kept going, “If you are special.” Oh, I am. I reassured him, very special you see and tapped my skull. I have an invisible playmate who is named Death, but as I find out isn’t really Death, he’s Sherlock, a little death, a reaper. What did your card say? A level 1? So a reaper who is actually real but only I can see him or dead people can see him.” I paused and he filled the silence. “I would say that is accurate. Dull, but accurate.”

I turned to Molly and her head was going like she was in a tennis match. Back and forth, back and forth. Did you get that I asked. She just nodded and said “fascinating! Describe him to me.” So I tried, she squinched her face up as if she could see him. I told her she wasn’t dead enough and that he was too stubborn to reveal himself. I walked around him so she could see the area he was standing in. I picked the back of his coat up and shook it, that got a “Hey!” out of him. I picked up his arm and jingled the bracelets. I turned to him and I couldn’t help it, but I had to do it. 

You left me.


	37. 37th entry

You left me.  
You left me.  
You left me.  
You left me when I needed you.  
You made me forget you.  
You made me forget that I needed you.  
You made me forget why I needed you.  
You were the one happy thing I had growing up and you took that.   
YOU TOOK IT!!   
Yeah, I'm angry.  
I'm angry, I'm angry, I'm angry!!!!  
And you're going to have to deal with it because you left me all alone and unhappy.


	38. 38th entry

Sherlock stayed with me after that. He wouldn’t leave. Molly visited often, she snuck me proper tea from her home in a pink thermal mug with cats outlined on it. It made me smile, it made Sherlock frown. He wouldn’t leave. And when I say he wouldn’t leave, I mean he wouldn’t leave. He went with me to the cafeteria, to sessions with Dr. Lestrade, which made them even more awkward and had him scribbling more in his notepad. Sherlock became curious so he walked behind Lestrade and he read out loud “regressed. less open, patient is fidgeting more and has become more reluctant to talk.” I am not I said out loud. Lestrade looked up at me and I clammed up. He went back to writing in his notepad. I was a soldier I told him. Lestrade looked up, I had his attention. He said he knew and did I want to talk about my time in Afghanistan. I shook my head. Did I want to talk about the clinic I used to work in. I shook my head. I pretty much sat there now quietly. Death looked too interested in what I may have to say. Get your own Therapist I told him, these sessions aren’t for you or for you to feel less guilty you cock. Dr. Lestrade frowned at me. He sighed and looked back to his notebook and asked how the medication was going, was I participating in group, was I getting enough to eat, how many times were my hallucinations appearing. I told him that they weren’t hallucinations, but that since he didn’t believe me well then. He won’t go away. He just follows me around wherever I go because I’m angry at him. “Let’s talk about that anger John,” Lestrade said. But I couldn’t really talk to Lestrade about Sherlock. He didn’t believe me. It was a painfully long session, I hope they won’t increase my meds. I’m not taking them anyway, it seems kind of a waste. 

Sherlock keeps flickering. I don’t know what that means. He’ll frown and then flicker and then frown some more. I’d like to know why, but then that would mean talking to him and I wasn’t ready. He stayed. He flickered like a ghost and he stayed with me. All the time. When I say all the time, I mean even when I closed my eyes to go to sleep, he was there at night while I slept, he was there during the day while I….he says pouted, I say processed. I didn’t play chess with him, I sat next to Molly during group while he hovered in a corner, like a black bird of prey. He says I’m being dramatic about it now. I was fortunately left unbothered by Sebastian and Jim during this time, which was a relief. I didn’t like them and it’s kind of hard to avoid people in this place. I was greatful for the reprieve. I didn’t play chess with Sherlock either….yeah okay all right, I was sulking. I was shocked, caught off guard. His flickering became more prominent until I couldn’t ignore it anymore and I asked him what was wrong. Was my medication really working. He said not to be dull. It was just his brother trying to order him around and he was ignoring it. I told him he had a job to do but he said that there were others that could handle it, I needed him.

I needed him. 

Yeah, I did. But you won’t catch me saying that to him, the great looby!


	39. 39th Entry

Somethings gone wrong. I can feel it. The orderlies have begun having whispered conversations in the hall, they shut up really fast when you get too close. In group, aside from Sebastian and Jim, another guy was missing. Molly looked worried at this. She kept glancing at his chair. I can’t remember his name. So many of them come and go and have way worse problems than me, I don’t put in the effort. I feel bad about that. 

Sherlock kept close to me but he kept muttering that something wasn’t right. I’m afraid I agreed with him. I wasn’t sure how much more my nerves could take. He began to flicker more and more. I told him if he needed to leave, he was more than welcome to. Somethings are more important than one person. He looked at me then. He looked at me for a long time. It was strange to sit there with a flickering person in front of you. I joked that he could get a job working in the horror movie business. Someone would hire him. He got sad then and looked to the door and said “My brother will never let me go. This isn’t something you can just walk away from.”

I told him I understood. He got angry then. Did I? Did I really understand! I saluted him and whispered a phrase I hadn’t said in a long time, “Be the best.” He became sad at this and approached me. He held his hand out and placed it on my cheek. “If I could have spared you from that, I would have.” He let out a yelp after this and flickered furiously. I could hear him gasping as he doubled up. I reached a hand out from him, if he was in pain, I would have taken it from him. My heart froze at that moment because his bright blue eyes looked up at me with such pain and desperation before he disappeared and my hand was touching empty air.


	40. 40th entry

He disappeared. This time I was sure that he did it without meaning to and I didn’t know when he would come back. I’m afraid I panicked a bit. I ran throughout the building looking for him, calling his name. Molly came running down the hall and I grabbed her by the arms. She asked what was wrong. Anderson and Donovan came sprinting up the hallway once they saw I had taken hold of her. I let go immediately and held my hands up. Molly, God bless her soul, turned furiously on Anderson and Donovan, her name tag flying out. “He’s upset!” she yelled, “can’t you see that! He’s not trying to hurt me, he would never hurt me, he’s upset and I’m trying to find out why! Now go find someone else to bother and let me do my job!” She stomped her foot down aggressively towards them and I swear to God she kind of growled. Anderson, Donovan and I gaped at her. I’m afraid that I was no better than A and D after witnessing her temper. She turned to me and tsked, rolled her eyes and reached a hand out and shut my mouth. I didn’t realize it was hanging open. “Shut it or you’ll start to drool. Come with me.” She grabbed my arm and started dragging me away from Anderson and Donovan who were still rooted to the spot. Donovan’s arms crossed, muttering to herself and Anderson’s arms hung down, they made him look apelike. I laughed. Molly turned back and said “you better have something wrong with you that’s not simply the crazies making you laugh right now.” I stopped laughing and stared at her. She huffed again and kept walking, pulling me along. She opened the door to her broom closet of an office and shoved me into the chair opposite her desk. I pulled out a couple of file folders and notebook from under them. I rubbed my bum where I had sat down hard on the spiral. I chucked them on her desk as she sat there tapping her pen on the desk. “Well?” she asked me. 

Sherlock is gone. Sherlock is gone. Sherlock is gone. Sherlock is gone.

She wanted to know if this was good news or bad. I told her I didn’t know, I had never seen him leave like that. Usually, he just left. This time he left with pain involved. Oh god, he was in pain. I have never seen him in pain, he shouldn’t be in pain!! She held her hand out and said to hang on and then start from the beginning, what could i remember about how he left. She scribbled in the notebook that I had chucked on the desk. Is that going to help? She looked at me and said “You should know whether or not writing something down helps.” I shut up and then told her about the flickering and then sudden disappearance. She asked how does he show up and how does he leave. She helped me work up a plan and then had me try it.

We went to the social room and I set up the chessboard but nothing happened, he didn’t show. I sat there for half a day, Molly had to leave because she still had work to do, but she came by here and there, her face growing sadder. At one point, A and D drifted in and stared at me, but then something happened. They got texts and they took off running at a sprint. I stared after them, but there wasn’t anything I could do. I turned back around and then nearly jumped out of my chair. Jim was in the other chair, fiddling with the chess pieces. He moved his pawn and smiled at me. “Hello, John. I’m sorry we really haven’t had a chance to talk much.” He waved his hand towards the board, indicating I should play. I think I stuttered, trying to figure out how to politely leave when a hand clamped down on my shoulder. I looked up and it was Sebastian. I haven’t seen them in quite awhile, I don’t know where they have been, but I still didn’t like them. I smiled at them, I’m sure it was ugly and awkward and told them I wasn’t playing and I was happy to let them have the board. Sebastian just shook my shoulder and knelt down beside me. “No,” he said “Jim wants to play. He likes to play. Play with him. Go on!” I moved a pawn and watched Jim start to play. He was sneaky and vicious, I didn’t like it. I played how I normally played with Sherlock, but he never really posed a threat like this. I changed my game and began to attack and take Jim’s pieces one by one, I lost some of my own to his tricks. Jim smiled at me and then at Sebastian. I stopped playing when Sebastian touched my face and turned it towards him and said “he likes the way you play.” I tried to jerk my face away, but Sebastian grabbed it and squeezed my cheeks, grinding against the nerves to my jaw. He turned my face hard away from him and I was suddenly looking at Jim who had come to stand beside me. He leaned down and said “You will provide excellent sport.” He reached a hand out and traced my nose from in between my eyebrows to the tip of my nose. I lunged for Jim, but was stopped by both Sebastian and by Molly’s voice. She walked towards us like we were being naughty children. She told Sebastian to let me go and ignored Jim completely, even though he was circling her like a buzzard. I hate to use cliches, but the guy gives me the creeps. “Off with you,” she told Sebastian and then told me I was late for an appointment and walked off with me in tow. I tried not to look confused and thankful at the same time. I told her she was my hero. She told me not to be silly and that she could recognize a bully when she saw one. I told her both of those guys were bullies and she stopped and gave me this look and then she said something very profound.  
“John, there was only one guy there. Sebastian.”  
I think I fainted. I’m pretty sure I fainted. My head hurts and I vaguely recall Molly hovering above me all blurry like. Someone was also laughing in this high pitched girly sound but I’m not sure who it was.


	41. 41st entry

No sign of Sherlock and no sign of “Jim.” Something is still not right here and I don’t mean with me. The natives are literally getting restless. Dr. Lestrade looks like he hasn’t had sleep in days or weeks and I don’t think it has to do with his wife kicking him out and him sleeping in his office. Even Molly seems nervous. She’s not letting me too far out of her sight. I’ve either got a new friend or a stalker.


	42. 42nd entry

No sign of Sherlock.


	43. 43rd entry

It’s been a couple of days since Sherlock disappeared. No sign of Sherlock. Molly keeps checking in on me, but I have nothing new to tell her. She asked about Jim and I described what he’s looked like. She said she want through some of the patient files but couldn’t find anyone that matched. She snuck a couple black and white copies of the pictures on file to me, but they weren’t Jim. She burned them and scattered the ashes outside. She’s trying but I don’t know how much she can go before she get’s caught and dismissed or admitted here. I should try to put some distance between us for her sake.


	44. 44th entry

They think we haven’t noticed the amount of silent ambulances leaving. We hear them on the roads, we see them pull up and we see them leave. I’m not imagining them. I pointed them out to Molly and she gave me this look. I don’t know what to make of it, but she avoided me for the rest of the day. I’m not dumb or crazy and I know that means something. 

Our ranks are dwindling. I’ve noticed. I think some of my other loony mates have noticed. They’ve become more nervous. Some have ended up in solitaire, some have had their medication increased. Lestrade is at his wit’s end. 

I can see it. I’m not crazy. My medication is not disappearing anymore.

No sign of Sherlock.


	45. 45th entry

“John, we’ve lost some patients. In fact, we’ve lost quite a few.” Molly said this to me in a hurried whisper as I was trying to eat breakfast this morning. She was shifting from foot to foot, almost hopping. I looked up and around in the cafeteria and up at the clock. She was here too early for normal but then I thought what is normal? I sat back from my cornflakes and looked up at her. To be clear, I asked her when she says lost, she doesn’t mean misplaced, correct? She pretty much stopped hopping around and stared at me. Ok, fine then. She didn’t misplace them. I scooted over on my bench and she sat down next to me. She told me to hurry up and finish my breakfast while she flipped through her clipboard and faked writing stuff down. She is a strange little thing. I asked her if this would get her in trouble, should she be talking to me? She told me not to be daft and that I was probably the only one sane in here that she could talk to. I didn’t like that. I didn’t like that at all because how desperate was she? She talked as she flipped through her clip board. She told me to look up and around and see if I noticed anyone missing. I did another look through the inmates in the cafeteria, the mushy wad of cereal getting stuck in my mouth as I noticed that our population was definitely down. I swallowed and asked if they didn’t happen to be in solitaire or early release. She shook her head and whispered “all beds and heads have been accounted for. Well, I mean the patients remaining have been accounted for and the empty beds and heads.” 

I couldn’t finish my breakfast at that point. Where are they? Again, she said I was being thick. They were dead, deceased, gone. I asked her how? She shook her head, she didn’t know. Lestrade wasn’t telling her any more specifics other than the inmates had died. Mostly to what appeared to be natural causes. She thought so many “natural” deaths seemed suspicious. She chewed on her pen, I asked her if she thought it was someone on the staff. She shrugged her shoulder. “I don’t know, I don’t know.” Have they gotten in any new employees? “Not since me,” she said shaking her head. I looked at her and she shook her pen at me. If I wanted someone dead John Watson, I would probably do it so erm, um...damn!” I laughed at that, I couldn’t imagine her killing anyone. “It’s like they’re thinning out the herd,” she mumbled and then whispered “do you think your friend would know anything about this?” I stared at her, totally gobsmacked. Molly, I said, you don’t talk of such things or you’ll end up in here! She looked sad and then she looked away. I reached my hand out to cover hers and said I actually don’t know. I haven’t seen him in a while and it’s making me nervous as well. I don’t know what...and then she jumped up from her seat and said brightly, “I’ve gotta go, we’ll finish this in group all right!’ I turned to watch her leave and saw Dr. Lestrade flanked by A and D. She smiled at them as she passed. Dr. Lestrade put a hand out and stopped her. He leaned down and must have asked her something. She held her clipboard up to show him something. He looked at it and released her slowly. She smiled up at him and chattered a bit and then skipped out. Dr. Lestrade’s eyes came to rest on me, I gave him a smile and let some mushy cereal fall out of my mouth.

Signs of Sherlock, 0  
Possible signs of murder, unknown.


	46. 46th entry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey yo hey. still a work in progress, please bear with me as i write this, thanks!

Dear Diary, I think I figured out what’s going on. They came for me in the night. I struggled with them. I could hear them laughing. Two people laughing. It was dark, I couldn’t see. They began to talk and I could hear Sebastian and Jim. I pushed, I struggled but my bare feet couldn’t find purchase on the sheets. They kept sliding around causing them to laugh harder.. Sebastian held me against him, his hand across my mouth, keeping me silent, his other arm around my chest. I didn’t like being hugged by him, fyi. Jim crawled up the bed and placed a hand on my chest. “I can hear your heart beat,” he said. I jammed a knee up and into him but that only made him laugh harder. I reached a hand up to scrabble at Sebastian's arm and bit into his hand at the same time. I heard him howl and he threw me down to the ground. I got my feet under me and lunged for the door, but he was quicker. I had just reached the handle when i was flattened against the door by Sebastian. He kicked my feet apart and I slammed an elbow back into him. Jim came around and laughed at me. 

I fought. I fought them as hard as I could. Until Sebastian got an arm around my neck. I was losing consciousness from the lack of oxygen and I wasn’t going to last much longer, the world was turning a fuzzy grey. Suddenly, Jim stopped Sebastian and whispered in his ear and they were gone and I was falling to the floor when it opened and struck me. The lights came on and I was struggling to breathe and see at the same time. I heard footsteps and voices. I raised my hands in front of me out of defense as a dark head came into view. It was Anderson! I could hear hear him cursing and talking to Donovan. I heard her say “Freak’s still alive.” Anderson placed a hand under my shoulder and helped me into a sitting position. I have never been happy to see A and D but at that moment, I was. I even leaned on Anderson for a moment and patted at whatever part of him I could get at. A third figure ran it. It was Molly. I felt her cool fingers at my throat and face. I couldn’t really talk yet but I touched her shoulder and touched the floor until she got it. She smiled “I fell asleep in my office. Don’t tell Lestrade.” Anderson mumbled something to her and they helped me off the floor. Anderson was full of questions and Molly looped my arm around her shoulders and I leaned into her. She guided me to the clinic area of the loony bin and began to clean me up. She let me get a look at myself in the mirrors. I had bruises on my neck, the finger prints beginning to show. My face was a mess, but I was alive. She began to whisper to me and I turned to listen. No one was in my room when they got there. What happened?

A nightmare I said. She kicked me. Jeez as if I haven’t been abused enough already. I told her it was Sebastian and Jim. She looked down at this and whispered “You know I can only see Sebastian right?” Yeah, I know. She asked what that meant. Honestly, I have no idea. 

I have no idea.


	47. 47th entry

Today, I pretty much stayed in Molly’s shadow. I found her in her office and she walked me to breakfast and I had to make her eat, she was so worried about what happened to me last night. She pushed her eggs around, but I made her eat or I wouldn’t eat. She got that mulish sort of look on her face and then jammed about fifty eggs in to her mouth and sat there, like a stubborn little chipmunk. I started laughing until she began choking. A couple of good whacks to her back and she spat out the egg. Turns out even I wasn’t that hungry after all. We sipped coffee together and she asked me if I had seen Sebastian or Jim yet. No. I have not seen them. I don’t want to see them. I rubbed my face and she pulled the collar down on my shirt and told me that the bruising didn’t look that bad. She stood up and said we should go outside.

As we were walking and drinking our coffee, she let on that Anderson and Donovan hadn’t reported it. I looked at her like she was crazy. There’s no way they can explain how you got bruised up and nearly choked all by yourself without explaining self harm. I sputtered. Wouldn’t, isn’t, shouldn’t, I mean that seems like something they would or should do! She shook her head. It’ll cause more trouble for me, and I’ll be put in solitaire for observation. She said if I go into solitaire, I might not come out alive. That froze me. What does that mean! She said that’s where they’ve lost all their patients. She’s not supposed to tell anyone, but so far the ones that have passed away have come from solitary confinement without any pattern. It’s all random she said or seemingly random and natural asphyxiation or drowning or um...suicide. 

I took a moment to process that before Molly had to go back in and start her day. I pretty much sat outside her door when she had private consultations. A and D let me sit there peacefully. Anderson would kick my foot as he passed, not out of spite, I think because he wanted to make sure I was still there. Poor guy, he had this really sad sorry look on his face. Well, sometimes you have to experience hard things in life. Last night wasn’t the first time I was almost killed. My leg always hurts before my shoulder does. Chalk that one up to a psychosomatic injury. One I know these guys can handle. The other problem, well I don’t think they can handle that one. 

No sign of Sherlock  
No sign of Sebastian and Jim  
It’s time for lights out and I’m terrified.


	48. 48th entry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will be unavailable next two days! sorry  
> **new edit** i just did a bunch of edits on the first 11 entries!

I didn’t want to go to sleep last night. I was scared. Molly held my face between her hands as I stood outside my door. She would stay late, she said. Busy herself with something menial, catch up on reports or something. I should leave my door open. A and D came by and I almost came undone. D linked her arm through A and whispered that it was alright to leave my door open, they would keep an eye and ear out. I just stood there staring at them. Molly clapped me on the shoulder and said “There’s a brave lad. There’s my brave soldier.” At those words, something unleashed from inside me. I stood up straight and remembered. I was a soldier. While I had survived the war in Afghanistan, maybe I was always meant to die in battle. I didn’t know where or what that battle was but this seemed like a good as place as any way. If I go down, at least I’ll go out with a fight. My fear left me and I said good night and went to my bed, I paused and then slid in between the sheets. I turned until I was facing the door and smiled at Molly, Anderson and Donovan. They didn’t smile back. Molly gave a small wave.

I slept. I think. I just remember vague parts, it’s difficult to remember now that i’m awake. I remember sunlight and clouds, a picnic blanket with tea laid out. There was deep laughter and falling and the smell of crushed grass as I was rolled around by something. I remember smiling at that something, but what was that something? There was warm, sensuous rain, falling and hitting my skin and it was soothing and glorious all at the same time and I loved it and in return, it loved me! If one can say such things about rain. 

When I woke up, I was alive. I was whole. Except for that dream, nothing had disturbed me. Until Molly came to check on me and she seemed startled. “Oh,” she breathed. “Oh. I know that look. Did you have a good night John?” she giggled and covered her smile with her hand. I didn’t know what she was talking about. She waved me to the mirror and I stood looking at myself. I had a huge grin on my face, it took sheer will power to make it go away, my hair was rumpled, my pajamas were rucked about me and I had some new purplish marks on my neck, fresh marks overlapping where Sebastian had left his. I pulled my shirt down and I could see them on my collar bone. I took my shirt off and there were more on my chest and belly. Molly giggled again and told me it looks like I had a bit of a go with an octopus. 

I’m afraid I pretty much kicked about and threw another undignified fit and yelled at Sherlock. And if it were possible, Molly’s eyes grew wider.

Some sign of Sherlock  
No sign of my patience or mental functions.


	49. 49th entry

Pain in my ass. Molly wanted to know why I thought my resident octopus was Sherlock. I don’t know. I just don’t know. But it had to be him. Who else could it be. You can smell people, you know. And I know what he smells like. The rain. She asked if I wanted it to be someone else. Yes, no. Again, I don’t know! My head hurts, what am I going to do? She asked if I enjoyed it. You know, sometimes, sometimes she’s pretty blunt. Sometimes I can handle it. Sometimes I'm not sure. I'm sure I looked like a fish out of water right there. She tapped my chin and told me I was indeed making the face of a fish again. She asked again and I still had no answer. I grabbed at my hair and looked in the mirror at all the little purple bruises. I closed my eyes and thought back to my dream. I whispered that I was the sun and he was the rain.  
“If it were him,” Molly said. I laughed at that “IF” If If If. Lot’s of If. It bloody well was him! I hate to think who else it could have been. An image of Jim flashed into my head and I became disgusted. I hope it was Sherlock. Did I wish it was him? I had a sudden urge to know where he was. Was he all right? Where did he go?

Molly continued to giggle at me as I tried to cover the mess I was in. She helpfully suggested bed bugs or leeches as a suggestion or that maybe I have a sensitive arse and found the pea. That little...ugh. She’s cool though. Great. Like I needed another thing wrong with me. Hi, my name is John Watson and I have bed bug bites or leeches or I’m a pretty pretty princess. That’s going to fly.


	50. 50th entry

Welp, I had no choice. My bruises were noted, creepy crawlies in the bed were my easiest lie and they made me change rooms, which is no small thing here. Not everyone adapts to change well, but hey you know, you make do. Molly kept smirking at me, the cheeky little thing. Donovan kept winking at me. Worst of all was that I was prescribed a topical ointment by the clinic. Anderson and his stupid ointment schedule. How does one even begin to explain hickies to a male orderly who knows what they are but still waves his stupid bottle of cream at you until you comply because Dr’s orders and there’s nothing you can do but sit there and let him smear you with gunk. The things one does to hide a hickie. This is not high school! 

That drama queen, who shall stay nameless but knows who he is….came back. He came in the dark, I was asleep and suddenly someone was shaking me awake calling my name. I whispered the name that’s always on my mind and the tip of my tongue. Sherlock. I looked up into his bright eyes and his smile. I reached out a hand to touch his face, he turned his head into my hand. And then he made the most wonderful noise as I knocked the air out of him. Like a whoopee cushion deflating. I began to yell at him. It wasn’t a very dignified reception but then he had left me in quite a state of panic to begin with. A and D ran into my room and I sat blinking in the light, raising a hand to ward off the brightness. Sherlock stood there quietly, slightly hunched over after my hit. I had a nightmare, I explained to the double doofuses. 

They took a quick look around and left. I turned back to Sherlock, ready to give him a really stern talking to, but I stopped. He was flickering furiously. He tried to speak to me again, I do recall that he had said my name earlier. Did I hurt him I wondered, I asked but he couldn’t answer. He couldn’t hold himself together long enough for anything to make sense other than my name, off and wrong. I slept ill the rest of the night. Where is he. He didn’t seem in pain but was in a lot of distress I think, but not about himself, about me. Dear Diary, cue dramatic music.


	51. 51st entry

I woke up again to a very pale Sherlock. If he could get any paler, he um did. But he was solid, not flickering anymore. He was sitting at the end of my bed with his legs tucked up under his chin, watching me. Probably waiting to see if I would punch him or not this time. I sat up, and slid back until I was resting against my headboard. We stared at each other for a few seconds, it may have been lifetimes. He seemed to grow smaller and smaller as I watched him. His eyes becoming more tortured until I couldn’t stand it anymore. I sighed and reached a hand out towards him, he hesitantly put his hand in mine, my hand warmed his finger tips. I pulled him to me until I could tuck his head under my chin. His hair curled about my jaw. I smiled and began to hum a song. He asked what it was. I laughed and told him “Octopus’s Garden.”

He knows something’s not right at St. Bart’s. There have been quite a few deaths that have occurred that Big Death, Mycroft hasn’t sanctioned. He was called off from my side by his brother. He was needed, he was sorry he had to leave me. He didn’t want to but- I shushed him at this point. There are something’s that are bigger than any individual and that he shouldn’t shirk his duty. He chuckled and looked up at me. I was held by those beautiful rain colored eyes. “Always a soldier,” he whispered. I’d like to be under the sea, in an octopus’s garden in the shade, I whispered back. “John, he said, “I have no idea what that means. Has this place gotten to you?” I sighed. Sometimes I think he knows everything and then I encounter a moment like this. I didn’t bother to explain it to him. Of course I will help him! He says that we must leave St. Barts, was I up for it? Oh God, yes! I leaped off the bed and scrambled for my clothes. He chuckled behind me. I pulled on Jeans, my new striped jumper, socks and shoes. I was ready. I turned and he was holding my jacket out to me. I grabbed it and we walked out of my door and had almost made it to the main entrance when a woman walked in.

She was gorgeous, naked as a jay bird, no one batted an eye. Well ok then. Why am I even in here I muttered, she’s crazier than I am! Death asked if I could see her, he looked surprised. Of course I can see her, I can see all of her! How could I not? She walked right up to me and I halted. “Oh he is a smart one,” she said touching my cheek. Sherlock grabbed me and turned me towards him and yelled in his deep voice “YOU CAN SEE HER!?” I just nodded, stunned. Well, that seemed to surprise him. He whipped around to the woman and started yelling at her to put some clothes on. She smiled and shifted slightly, a copy of what Sherlock was wearing appeared, sort of. She had managed the coat but forgot the rest of what went under it. I was still eyeing her while sherlock was holding me. I smiled at her. “You’re sure you can see her?” he asked me again. Well of course I can see her I told him she was right there, I even pointed at her. I was pulled into a rough hug and then pushed back. He lowered his head to mine, I heard him mutter, “I’m not crazy, thank God.” You’re not crazy? He’s not crazy. What do you mean YOU’RE not crazy! He looked at me, guilt all over his face. Oh what now? “I thought I was the only one you could see. I thought there was something wrong with me that made you able to see me!”

I looked at him, his teeth were worrying his bottom lip. His beautiful eyes as old as the sky looked back and forth between Irene and myself I brought my arms up and grasped his arms. YOU BIG LOOBY! I yelled. I’m afraid I yelled. I did. Sorry. Irene shrieked as I suddenly reached out and grabbed her arm to shake it. She started laughing. Her bright eyes, that matched his sparkled. “Oh I like him,” she said again. Sherlock turned on her and wanted to know what she was doing here. I think I needed to sit down then, I’m not sure what is real. She told him “Big Brother” calls. Sherlock stared very intently at her until he let out a curse. She smiled at me, “He could never read me very well.” She seemed proud of that fact. He claimed she was distracting him and that she should take care of her own territory and leave him alone. She shook her finger at him, nope. It’s about the deaths. He waited for her to tell him. It’s one of us, she said. Sherlock froze at this. “Tell me more,” he ground out.  
“I can’t,” she said.  
“Can’t or won’t?”  
“I can’t, that’s all Mycroft told me. Anything else would be a guess.” Mycroft again. I sighed. Sherlock told her to take a guess, make a hypothesis. She frowned and thought a bit before replying, “Humans dying before their time. It all adds up to what Mycroft told me. A rogue reaper. How he’s doing it, I don’t know.” I heard some more footsteps and a “Hallo,” that had me snapping my head around. It was Mike Stamford, my old army buddy. Last I saw of him, I was holding him, squeezing him tight because his chest had been torn apart by an IED. There was blood, so much blood. I remember pressing my hands into him, all over him, trying to stop the blood, but it wouldn’t stop. I screamed for help, but none came. Someone started screaming, I could hear them, but I couldn’t see them. Sherlock says he didn’t know I was such a fainter. He never suspected from my Doctoring and military service that I would just faint at the sight of a ghost. And that he thought I would appreciate the mercy he had shown Mike. It was a favor to me.

To me

Mike Stamford, a reaper.


	52. 52nd Entry

Dear Diary, Sherlock rescued you from St. Barts. It would appear he has become just as fascinated with you as he is of me it seems. What a strange bird. He says I have better things to write about than to insult him.

When I came back from wherever traumatized brains go when they are being traumatized, Molly, Anderson and Donovan were leaning over me, I had restraints on and I began to thrash about. Molly laid a hand on me and tried to calm me down, she told me I was back in solitary observation, I almost cried, I had been this close to leaving with Sherlock! I could see Sherlock, Mike and Irene standing behind the orderlies and Molly. Sherlock was practically dancing to get to me. Irene was holding both Sherlock and Mike back. Dr. Lestrade walked in and told me I had suffered a mental break. He began to direct Anderson and Donovan to administer some sedatives. They looked like they wanted to refuse, bless them. Molly began to offer alternative suggestions. I began to yell for Sherlock, Dr. Lestrade ordered Anderson and Donovan to get the sedatives NOW and to take Molly out of the room, I looked up and met her eyes briefly, she began to put up a fight too! Lestrade repeated his order to take Molly from the room, he was looking even more frazzled at this point, I almost felt sorry for him. Molly was pushed out and the door was closed, I could see her through the window, she was yelling and pounding on the door. Anderson and Donovan advanced upon me with the sedative, I tried to resist. Dr. Lestrade tried to calm me down, he took the sedative from Anderson and directed them to hold me down. Sherlock finally pushed past Irene and grabbed my shoulders. I smiled up at him, Molly’s pounding stopped. He was there, he wasn’t going to leave me. I turned my head to look out the door and mouthed it’s ok to Molly and pointed at Sherlock. She shook her head, I winked at her and then froze. Jim appeared behind Molly and she jerked to the side, eyes roving the entire hallway. I don’t think she could see him. He disappeared as Sherlock turned his head at my gasp, but all he saw was Molly. I felt a prick as Dr. Lestrade drove the needle into my arm and I jerked from the pain. It took effect fast, I felt relaxed and warm, like on a sunny day. I stared into the rain colored eyes that kept reassuring me that everything was fine, everything was going to be...fine..just...fine.


	53. 53rd Entry

I woke up after I don’t know how long and the first thing I wanted to do was roll over and go back to sleep or vomit, I didn’t know which. I think I did roll over, I could hear someone groaning and someone arguing. I put my hands over my ears to drown out the sounds. I blacked out again and woke up to the quiet sensation of rain falling on me until I remembered what that might mean and I slapped my hands around, Oh no you don’t! I shouted. I heard laughing, it was a mixture of harrumphing sounds, deep rich tones and light feminine trills. I opened my eyes and all around was grey fog as far as I could see. I thought I was going to suffocate from the heaviness of the air. I inhaled deeply and paused. I inhaled again, a hand was placed on my chest and the deep voice of Sherlock told me to relax. I inhaled again and smelled...mint! I raised my own hand and brought it up in front of my face, I could barely see it. I could barely make out Sherlock in the gloom. He moved and the fog moved with him. I waved my hand and the fog moved with me. I kept moving my hand back and forth, fascinated by the moving air until Sherlock had enough of my silliness and told me to get off the floor. I wasn’t sure if I could. He pulled me up and held me close, tucking my head under his chin. I could feel the rough material of his coat against my cheek and his bony chin against the top of my head. He rubbed small circles against my back as if I were a child that needed soothing. I leaned into him and then stiffened. I asked him if I was dead finally, was this it? Was I in heaven….or hell? He chuckled and began to answer me when we were interrupted by the most unforgiving voice I had ever heard from somewhere, from everywhere. “YOU HAVE BROUGHT A LIVING HUMAN INTO THE IN BETWEEN, SHERLOCK HOLMES. YOU KNOW THE RULES WE ARE BOUND BY, YOU DO NOT TAMPER WITH A HUMAN LIFE! GIVE HIM TO ME SHERLOCK! ANOTHER MISTAKE OF YOURS I HAVE TO CORRECT!

I wanted to put my hands over my ears and burrow into Sherlock’s coat. I saw Mike and Irene back away and stand together side by side silently. This did not sound good. Although as I stood there trembling, my mind finally put itself together and hey hey hey! He saved my life! I blurted out. He saved my life, I repeated. I kept repeating it as I turned around slowly and stood between my savior and the voice. I clutched the front of Sherlock’s coat and stepped forward. I could not see who was speaking to me, but I waved my fist in the air and yelled at the voice that he had saved me and I didn’t know where we were but that the voice should have better manners or get some proper intel before jumping to conclusions. Still dazed, I weaved about at the end of my tether, still holding on to Sherlock. He began to chuckle and I looked back which caused me to experience another twinge of vertigo. Sherlock clasped me under the elbows and pulled me back into to support my weight. I kept grumbling into his coat. He told me what I was feeling wasn’t unusual, he was surprised I was managing so well. What is this place I asked out loud.  
It is the realm of in between, came the voice closer and softer. I turned my head and saw a tall elegant man walk forward, a flowing robe around him, a small dark haired lady followed closely in his wake. She was busy with some sort of tablet. They stopped quite close to us, Sherlock simply nodded his head and said “Mycroft.” Big Death? I blurted out, this got a chuckle from the peanut gallery and a sharp look from Mycroft. “If one would like to put it that way, then yes.” He tipped his head at an angle. “He used to be bigger,” said Sherlock, “How goes the diet brother dear?” Mycroft ignored Sherlock, like all older siblings ignore their younger ones. He simply smiled at him and turned to me and said “You are in the in between. Not living, not dying. A halfway point, so to speak.” I swallowed and turned to Sherlock. You said I wasn’t dead I breathed, slightly panicked. “You are not dead,” said Mycroft, “merely transported here by my baby brother before your time. You are in fact, still living. You are just in the wrong place.” I asked what place I should be in. He said “the living. Take him back now Sherlock.”

I asserted myself then and informed his Deathliness that I was not going back to St. Barts, he had no authority over me since I was in fact still living. He threatened to have that arranged for me and I laughed him off. That would be against his own rules wouldn’t it, I know that now! It’s not my time. Besides, St. Bart’s is no place for me anymore. It’s not safe. There is death there. Strange death I muttered. This caught everyone’s interest. “Strange death?” asked Mycroft, Mike and Irene stepped forward, even the young lady focused on her tablet paid attention. Well, er yes. Strange death. We’ve lost a lot of inmates um, patients, I told them. “How?” asked Sherlock. “We know we haven’t received anyone from St. Bart’s recently,” said the young lady near Mycroft. Everyone’s attention focused on her slight figure. She looked up at Mycroft and flipped her tablet to him. He looked at it and then looked up at me, “I was aware that there have been death's unrecorded. How many have died at St. Bart’s?” Quite a lot actually, on average, once a week. Maybe two a week or more. I’ve seen a lot of ambulances and a lot of people are missing. “Let me see that Anthea,” Mycroft took her tablet and flipped through it, when he was done he looked briefly up at Sherlock and then at the others. “It would appear John Watson, that if you are telling the truth about these deaths, there have been more than we first suspected,” he said.  
“Then they’re all lost to us?” Irene asked stepping forward  
“Bloody hell!”exclaimed Mike.  
Sherlock stood silent, observing his brother. I shifted my weight and Sherlock turned to me, “Not good,” he said. Um yeah, bit not good I should think. But at this point I don’t know what to think. I was almost killed there. Oh boy did I have everyone’s attention. “WHAT!” Sherlock thundered, turning me towards him. “When!?” He asked. "John, you said strange deaths, would you clarify please?" asked Mycroft, placing his hand on Sherlock's arm, restraining him. I explained what I had been told about some of the other patients, Molly didn't give me much detail and then I told them what happened a couple of nights ago and about the strange patient no one else could see. Everyone hissed at the mention of his name.

  
Moriarty.

  
They all began to talk at once, it hurt my ears and my head. I was too tired to care anymore at that point. Theories and plans were tossed around I’m afraid none of it stayed with me. The strange vertigo that I had been fighting began to overwhelm me and I felt like I was falling and flying at the same time, until I was caught by two strong arms and anchored again. I closed my eyes as a third hand, similar to the other two brushed over my face and ruffled my hair. I heard a combination of a growl, snort and Irene’s laughter, but my vertigo stopped and the world steadied and I drifted off to sleep again.


	54. 54th entry

I came out of my slumber to the sound of a female voice asking if Sherlock had known I was this delicate. He rumbled something in response. Mycroft’s clearer tone replied to Irene, “He is not inherently weak, but he is in the in between. It will wear on him, as Sherlock should have known, which is why we don’t bring live humans here, do we Sherlock?” Again, Sherlock rumbled an indistinct reply. I opened my eyes to see that we had moved into some sort of sitting room. Had we moved? I couldn’t recall being moved. Irene and Mike were sitting with Anthea on a sofa, poring over her tablet. Sherlock and Mycroft sat in armchairs facing each other. I sat up from where I had been placed on the floor. Very comfortable, thanks mate. Irene stood up and came over to me and knelt beside me. Sherlock hissed from his chair. She ignored him. “Better now?” she asked, “Mycroft has that effect on people,” 

Mycroft told her not to give me any ideas and that if I was done resting I should come over and join them for tea. He waved a hand and another tufted armchair appeared in between his and Sherlock’s. I wobbled up with the aid of Irene and hurriedly walked over and plopped back down. I watched as Mycroft poured my tea and placed a few biscuits on the saucer. Sherlock leaned forward and well I wouldn’t say they fought over the saucer because that’s too undignified for what actually happened. Sherlock “aggressively” went to snatch the completed dish from Mycroft, Sherlock’s bracelets jangled in the tug of war. Mycroft raised an eyebrow and relinquished the saucer without a fight. Sherlock sort of snarled at Mycroft before handing me my tea. Okay then. Wow. Yeah, all right. 

I chewed on my biscuit and listened to the rest of them talk. I was still slightly disoriented and not up to speed. I’m not even sure if that was a real biscuit I ate. 

Someone came running in, huffing and puffing he was wearing a non-descript suit, wrinkled and his hair was brown, mussed and he kept running his hands through it. He stopped at the edge of the carpet and shifted back and forth between their feet, almost hopping. He sort of bowed to Mycroft and then waved his hands at Anthea in a fast and furious manner. She looked to Mycroft for approval before getting up to go see the new visitor. Still hopping, he grabbed her tablet out of her hands before she had a chance to react. Mycroft leaped out of his chair and seemed to grow before my eyes, the room and his clothing, which at this point I wasn’t sure if what anyone was wearing could be called real clothing, swirled angrily around him, he thundered at the new visitor to give the tablet back to Anthea. Sherlock stood up with Mycroft, his own coat beginning to swirl in reaction to Mycroft, Irene and Mike soon followed. Irene’s coat disappeared altogether, Mike’s appearance simply flickered uncertainly. 

I remained seated during the abrupt change of mood, experiencing another flash of vertigo, my tea cup halfway to my mouth and I froze, sensing the danger that our visitor was in, even though he either seemed not to sense it or was completely ignoring it I thought until his clothing began to flicker and wave in uneven bursts, faster and faster. His eyes flashed, his face grew pale and then paler. “They’re not here. They’re g-g-gone,” he whispered, “They’re all gone! I don’t have them...I….I...I’m sorry!” He began to flicker himself and grow paler, he slowly gave the tablet back to Anthea and turned in a circle, his hands in his hair, tugging at the poor tufts, a sob came out of his mouth and he tried to stop it. Whoever he was, he was very sorry looking now. Anthea was looking at the tablet, her brow furrowed, she was flicking the screen, but didn’t seem to see what he had seen. She turned back to him to get his attention, but his eyes were closed and he was rocking. He stepped away and covered his face with his hands and stood like a child who has had his favorite toy taken and broken in front of him. Anthea stayed where she was, uncertain. She began to flicker as well.

I stood up, since everyone else was. I walked towards the young man who was obviously in shock over something I didn't know what. I asked him who was gone. He looked over to me and bent his head to my shoulder, pulled me closer and let go a harsh sob, he may have said something like “my souls”. 

The room exploded behind me, catching me with it and I was falling again. I heard Sherlock’s deep chuckle as I cursed violently and waited for everything to settle. I could hear someone crying about souls, I could hear and feel their tears. My shoulder and now face were wet with them and then I was alone and dry again, this time with only Sherlock in front of me. What the hell was that!


	55. 55th entry

Dear Diary,  
Mycroft is pissed. Sherlock is happy. Everyone else is pretty much reeling and I am caught up in it all. I can’t say that I’m not secretly thrilled about it. I’m not even sure Mycroft remembers I’m here. But I am, and I’m by Sherlock’s side which is where I have always been even when I thought he wasn’t there. I can’t tell if I’ve been the one haunting him or if he’s been the one haunting me. He says it’s me haunting him but I wasn’t a reaper, so I think he loses that argument technically. 

I think I should stay out of this, whatever it is that’s going on, but Sherlock wants to know if I want to eavesdrop on Mycroft’s war room. I laugh, a war room, Mycroft has a war room! Okay this I had to see. Sherlock led me away, but the air grew heavier and heavier, there was so much flickering and emotion. Wherever Mycroft was, would be at the epicenter of the edges that I was feeling. I paused, unwilling to go any further. I’m only human, I muttered. “So you are,” said Sherlock. I felt a sadness, as if he finally figured out what we were. He touched my shoulder and turned me around, away from the noise and chaos. I DON’T WANT TO LEAVE! I yelled, panicking. DON’T TAKE ME BACK! I grabbed him close and closed my eyes, afraid that he wouldn’t be there when I opened them. But nothing happened. Or rather a lot happened.

He wrapped me against him using his coat and murmured over and over how he wouldn’t leave me, how he couldn’t leave me, how we were one, now and always. He began to rock and sing a familiar song that made me laugh. “I'd like to be under the sea in an octopus' garden in the shade.” I looked up and smiled into his oh so serious face, he placed a hand on the back of my head and drew me closer. I reached a hand up to nestle in his black curling locks. I combed my hand out and watched as his unruly octopus hair curled itself around my fingers, almost as if it had a mind of it’s own. He patiently waited, like a good octopus does, until I had thoroughly tangled myself in it. He pulled me slowly towards him as I pulled him slowly down to me. I smiled against his lips as they pressed against mine but I felt a tear roll out from under my closed eyelids and we came together in that salty sea. 

I knew deep down that this could never be, for I am the bird and he is the fish.


	56. 56th entry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so sorry, i forgot my passwords and life got busy, will resume this week!

Sherlock took his coat off and wrapped it around me before we re-approached Mycroft’s war room. He said it would help with the effect of the in between that I felt. I was happy to have it, it was warm and it smelled of Sherlock. It also allowed me to see the various necklaces, trinkets and bangles he had kept all these years. He offered to alter it to fit me, but I declined. It was with a sense of childish joy that I rolled up the sleeves and let the hem drag upon the floor. I held his hand and he smiled as I skipped beside him. He tried to admonish me, that this wasn’t pretend play and that there were serious matters ahead. I know that. I knew that. You don’t call a war room a war room unless you mean it. 

We were soon in Mycroft’s presence and oh what a bustling scene it was, screens were up, reapers were coming in and out reporting to either Anthea first and then Mycroft second if she couldn’t handle them. Irene and Mike were flitting in and out. Mycroft turned to Sherlock, “This is unconscionable” he said. “Reapers are killing humans before their time and taking their souls.” Sherlock asked how long this had been going on, Mycroft lifted one shoulder, apparently some time now. Anthea hadn’t sorted it all out yet. All reapers were being recalled, re-assessed and reassigned. “The game’s afoot,” murmured Sherlock. “Would you like to see what I do, John?”  
Oh god yes! Except Mycroft halted us, he wanted his best man on the job, that meant Sherlock. Sherlock replied with a sullen “Dull.” But Mycroft wouldn’t hear about it. He was to go back to St. Bart’s and report on Moriarty, he would leave John with Mycroft. Well that didn’t sit well with Sherlock, it didn’t sit well with me either. In the end, I was let to go with Sherlock because if I couldn’t go, he wouldn’t go and I should go because I know St. Bart’s and what Sebastian looks like. Sherlock can’t be expected to remember what all humans look like. We left the war room and I began to hand Sherlock’s coat back and he waved it away, his bracelets jangling. He said it would camouflage me, no one will see me. Well, no human anyway. It’s a part of me and with that, he flickered again, shimmered, I still don’t understand what they do but he was again wearing his coat. So, it’s like a Sherlock suit, I’m wearing your skin? I wrinkled my nose at the thought and looked at the rolled sleeves covering my hands and the length trailing behind me. 

He ruffled my hair and then touched his hand to my shoulder, the coat responded to his touch and flickered until it had restructured itself to fit my frame. “Coat, meet John. John, meet Coat. Now you have officially met.” I thought he was being incredibly silly, until the fabric shifted slightly even though he wasn’t touching it anymore. I jumped and swatted at my backside, whoa whoa whoa what! Hey watch it now, grabby. Sherlock had the nerve to laugh. He turned and started walking back down the grey, it became lighter towards the end. I ran up and caught hold of him hold on there Carol Ann, I whispered, don’t go into the light! Sherlock frowned at me as I laughed and told him I had always wanted to say that. He told me that if I was done being silly then we should get a move on. 

Lead the way!  
Cry God for Harry, England and St. George!!!

Seriously, how the bloody hell does he not know who William Shakespeare is?? Ugh this is going to be a long trip.


End file.
